Christmas with the Bomb Girls
Page 30
Malc’s pulse started to race when he saw Billy standing in front of him. Terrified he might recognize him, Malc spoke in a deep gruff voice, ‘Hello little boy!’
‘Hello, Father Christmas,’ Billy boldly replied. ‘Did Rudolph get my carrot last night?’
‘Er, well now,’ Malc mumbled into his long beard.
Not having a clue what on earth Billy was talking about, Malc wondered how he could bluff his way out of an awkward situation, but luckily he caught sight of Ian standing slightly behind Billy, vigorously nodding his head. Taking the head-nodding as an affirmative, Malc boomed, ‘He most certainly did get your carrot, Billy, and he asked me to thank you and to give you this present,’ Malc said as he handed Billy a little car wrapped in blue crêpe paper.
‘Thank you, Father Christmas,’ Billy politely replied. ‘Please give Rudolph a kiss from me!’
It was Kit who spotted Arthur pushing Stevie in his pram across the square. ‘Thank God he made it,’ she said fervently. Waving her hand, she warmly beckoned him over to join the band girls, who were tuning up for the next round of carols.
‘Arthur! It’s brilliant you’ve come,’ Gladys cried, giving him the biggest hug. ‘And Stevie too,’ she added as she saw the bright-eyed little lad sitting up against a bank of pillows in his pram.
‘As you well know, I hadn’t planned on coming down here,’ Arthur confessed with a guilty expression. ‘I didn’t want to be a wet blanket, but the more I thought about it the more I thought how wrong it was to deny Stevie some fun on Christmas Day.’
‘Well done,’ the girls cried, as they pressed around Arthur and his burbling son. ‘We all know how hard this is for you – we miss her dreadfully too and we always will. But I think she’d love it that you’re here with us today, I really do,’ Kit said with tears in her eyes.
‘You are with friends who love you,’ Rosa said passionately.
Arthur nodded; he could feel the warmth of their love all around him. ‘Thank you,’ he said in a choked voice.
Nora, as ever, quite innocently lifted the mood by asking, ‘Would your Stevie like an apple fritter? They’ve cooled down,’ she quickly added. ‘Edna gave me two.’
‘Try him,’ said Arthur, and smiled as Stevie grabbed the crispy fritter, which he pressed to his lips and chewed. ‘I’d say that was a definite yes,’ Arthur chuckled.
‘Guess who’s Father Christmas?’ Maggie whispered mischievously.
Arthur’s gaze fell on Santa under the tree, still handing out presents. ‘That can’t be Malc!’ he guffawed.
‘Right first time!’ Maggie giggled.
‘I’ll buy him a pint for his troubles later,’ Arthur promised.
Whilst Edna and her grandchildren did a roaring trade serving fritters and freshly brewed tea, and Maggie’s mum shovelled crispy hot chestnuts into little newspaper cones, Flora and other volunteers wasted no time in working the crowd.
‘Eat and drink as much as you like, all free,’ Flora called out. ‘Donations welcome for refugees, Pendleton’s effort to help victims of war, dig deep, ladies and gentlemen – all donations gratefully received.’
As the charity tins continued to fill, the band struck up again, this time with more popular songs, which the crowd sentimentally crooned along to: Bing Crosby’s ‘I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas’, followed by Judy Garland’s ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’, then ‘Jingle Bells’ and other family favourites.
Gladys laid aside her alto sax in order to sing yet another Bing Crosby number, ‘I’ll be Home for Christmas’. Her sweet but powerful voice echoed around the square, and the audience immediately joined in the singing. How many out there, Gladys mused as she sang her heart out, are yearning for their loved ones, separated from them by land and sea? How many would never ever see their loved ones again in all the years that were to come once the war was over?
The swell of voices filling the square, then floating up into the night sky speckled with falling snow, brought tears to Gladys’s eyes, and she could see that her friends, gathered around her singing and playing their instruments, were getting emotional too. As the final verse faded away, Gladys closed her eyes for a few seconds in thought and sighed. And when she opened them again she did a double-take – was she seeing things? Had she had a touch too much of the port last night at Edna’s wedding reception? There, right before her eyes, was a large bunch of mistletoe, thick with white berries. A familiar deep voice behind her back said softly, ‘Happy Christmas, my darling.’
Gladys whirled round. ‘REGGIE!’ she all but screamed in surprise and delight. ‘REGGIE!’ she cried again, as she flung herself into his arms, where she sobbed tears of pure joy.
Still holding the mistletoe high above her head, Reggie whispered, ‘A kiss under the mistletoe.’
As their lips met, Gladys felt light-headed and dizzy with the force of Reggie’s deep passionate kisses; gold and silver stars exploded in her head as she sank into his embrace. Eventually, short of breath, she had to pull away.
‘Oh, Reggie.’ She said his name yet again as she slumped against his strong, warm chest in a daze of happiness. ‘I can’t believe it! I thought you couldn’t get off work for a few more days?’
‘I wangled it at the last minute,’ he told her. ‘Swapped my rota and worked through the night.’
‘Oh, my love,’ she murmured as she traced her fingers tenderly around his tired but still very beautiful eyes.
‘Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without you in my arms,’ he whispered back.
A cheeky voice behind them made Gladys jump. ‘Pleased to meet you!’
Hearing Maggie’s giggle brought Gladys down to earth with a bump. Still blinking in disbelief, she introduced her tall, dark, handsome boyfriend to her pals.
‘Dr Lloyd,’ Rosa said politely. ‘I hear so much from Gladys about you.’
Reggie flung his head back and laughed loudly. ‘I bet most of it was bad?’
‘It got better,’ Rosa replied with a diplomatic smile.
The crowd around them weren’t going to allow a bit of romance to get in the way of the proceedings. ‘Let’s have some more sing-song,’ they demanded.
Reggie handed Gladys her saxophone. ‘Sing for me, my songbird,’ he said as his lips curved into a proud smile.
Gladys put the mouthpiece of the instrument she loved to her lips and played out the opening music for ‘Silent Night’, which the band girls quickly picked up.
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright,
Round yon Virgin, mother and child,
Holy Infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.
As Edna sang her favourite carol with her strong arms wrapped around her grandchildren, her eyes sought out Arthur in the crowd.
‘Soon he’ll be gone,’ Edna thought as she felt a huge lump rise in her throat. ‘To start a new life without any of us here to remind him of Violet. I wish you well, Arthur Leadbetter,’ Edna sighed. ‘But you’ll be sorely missed in Pendleton.’
Feeling like her own cup of happiness had overflowed, Edna lovingly regarded Catherine and Marilyn standing by her side, then her eyes wandered over to Malc, who was still dressed as Father Christmas. ‘Poor sod,’ she thought as she saw him struggling with the long, itchy beard. ‘Never mind – tomorrow when we’re on our own in Edinburgh, I’ll make it up to him,’ she thought with a secret, knowing smile.
Rosa’s large brown eyes drifted to the banner waving in the wind. VICTIMS OF WAR, she read and prayed for all of those suffering persecution, torture and starvation as a consequence of Hitler’s evil war that had set man against man. Looking up at the stars that were pricking the dark winter sky, she prayed with all her heart, ‘Please, sweet God, grant my prayer, let me find my Gabriel soon, please, I beg you, keep him well, keep him alive.’
As the town clock struck seven, the happy crowd started to disperse; calling out season’s gr
eetings to one another, they went their separate ways. Edna and her family returned home to the chip shop, where Malc with great relief discarded the Father Christmas costume, then he willingly went with Arthur (who left baby Stevie with Edna and her enraptured granddaughters) to the Black Bull, where he sank three pints of bitter in rapid succession.
Rosa, out of consideration to Gladys, asked Nora and Maggie if she might accompany them home.
‘Why?’ asked Nora, who’d never perfected the art of subtlety.
‘Shssh!’ hissed Rosa as she rolled her eyes towards Gladys and Reggie.
Maggie leant forward to whisper in Nora’s ear, ‘If she comes home with us, the love-birds can be on their own together, yer daft sod!’
Nora’s big blue eyes all but rolled out of her head. ‘OOOH!’ she gasped as giggling Rosa and Maggie dragged her away before she really could put her foot in it.
Ian bundled exhausted Billy into the car, then, after packing Kit’s drum away in the boot, he settled his sleepy wife in the passenger seat.
‘Want a lift?’ he called over to Gladys and Reggie.
‘No, thanks,’ Gladys called back, beaming. ‘We’ll walk.’
As their cries of ‘Goodnight’ faded away, Gladys slipped her arm through Reggie’s. ‘Walk me home, sweetheart?’ she said with a loving smile.
‘First, I’ve got to give you your Christmas present.’
Gladys blushed – not knowing she’d be seeing Reggie so soon, she hadn’t got anything to give him. ‘Reggie, you shouldn’t have,’ she said shyly.
‘Oh, yes, I should!’ he answered robustly as he produced an envelope from his overcoat pocket, which he handed to Gladys. ‘Go on, open it,’ he urged.
Looking puzzled, Gladys ripped open the envelope, inside of which was a typewritten letter, which she couldn’t read because of the darkness and the falling snow. Reggie flicked on his cigarette lighter to cast a glow on to the paper. Squinting, Gladys saw the letter was addressed to her, and read it out loud:
You are asked to report to St Thomas’ Hospital, Westminster, London, on 6 January 1944, for a six-month course of advanced post-operative nursing.
Stunned, Gladys gazed into Reggie’s sparkling, dark-blue eyes. ‘I’m going to London!’ she gasped.
‘You’re coming to London to work with me, my sweet. I’ve arranged it; I’ll be your assigned surgeon and mentor.’
Gladys gaped. ‘How did you do that?’ she gasped.
Reggie grinned as he gave Gladys a seductive wink. ‘I’m a doctor, trust me!’ he joked, as he picked her up in his arms and swung her round until she was dizzy. When he finally put her down, he looked at her with some concern. ‘I wanted it to be a surprise, so I couldn’t actually ask your permission, sweetheart. I know I shouldn’t presume that you want to move to be with me. You can think about it – if you want to stay here, and I can see why you would want to be with all these wonderful people, you have only to say the word.’
There was not a single doubt in Gladys’s mind; much as she would be sad to leave Pendleton and the community she adored here, her destiny was with Reggie; and her career (she had already determined) was working with the wounded in acute need of post-operative care. ‘I don’t have to think about it, darling: of course I want to be with you!’ she replied as she reached up to kiss him square on the lips. Eventually they drew apart, and, rather dizzy with the ferocity and passion of their kisses, they gazed at each other for several seconds; then Reggie whispered as he twirled a length of her glorious hair around his fingers, ‘I thought it would be a good idea for us to get to know each other better before I ask you to be my wife!’
Gladys was so happy she could barely stand up and had to cling on to the man she’d loved from the moment she first saw him that far-off day in the Bay of Naples. In the town she would shortly be leaving for a new life, she gazed up towards the dark outline of the towering hills, where snow fell from a leaden sky; the year would soon turn, and 1944 would dawn, leaving 1943 behind. History would come to view it as the year that changed the course of the war in Europe, but Gladys would remember it till the day she died as the year she lost Violet and Myrtle but found love and a future with Dr Reggie Lloyd.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank my wonderful editors at Penguin, Clare Bowron and Donna Poppy, for their attention to detail and their dedication. I have, on one or two occasions, taken a few liberties with historical fact for the sake of the story; I won’t be the first author who has done this, nor will I be the last, and I hope, kind reader, you will indulge me in this.
THE BEGINNING
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First published 2017
Copyright © Daisy Styles, 2017
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover photo © Colin Thomas; background © Getty Images
ISBN: 978-1-405-92981-3